


Stand By Me

by HyacinthsSoul



Series: Cupcake Made Us Do It [2]
Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyacinthsSoul/pseuds/HyacinthsSoul
Summary: Thara lies awake a long while, staring into the darkness, wondering how badly he’ll spook Frong if he admits this is no longer a casual arrangement to him. If he admits that he wants more.
Relationships: Frong Korawit Kankun/Thara, Thara/Frong (My Engineer)
Series: Cupcake Made Us Do It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827115
Comments: 44
Kudos: 309
Collections: T/CBL





	Stand By Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to [Sitting Pretty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609301). I strongly recommend you read that one first for context/backstory, but please take note of its Explicit rating.

Thara wakes up uneasy that Friday for no reason that he can identify. Something feels wrong, something is off-kilter or out of place, and the fact that he can’t put his finger on what it is makes him even more anxious. 

He checks Cupcake first, of course, but his pet’s beady eyes are bright and the lizard downs its morning mealworm with gusto. 

The door is still locked, including the deadbolt, and the balcony door is firmly shut. No stove burners were left on, no taps dripping. Everything is in its proper place. 

He checks his phone, wondering if his subconscious is remembering a missed call notification during the night. But no, there’s nothing in his call log. Not even a text. That last one he’d had was—

Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly the penny drops. 

He hasn’t heard from Frong all week. Frong has read everything Thara sent—admittedly not a lot, given an especially brutal hospital schedule this week—but there are no replies, not even to the silly photo of Cupcake atop his head on Tuesday or the “Cook you dinner this weekend?” he’d sent yesterday morning.

Thara frowns. That’s not like Frong. Not at all. Typical Frong behavior would be to demand to know the dinner menu before deciding and then flirt outrageously about what kind of “dessert” would be on offer afterwards. Or if there’s a schedule conflict, to pout and insist on a raincheck date at once. Silently leaving him on read? Not Frong.

His first wild conclusion is that he’s being ghosted, but he’s pretty sure that’s just his post-Ice insecurities talking. Frong had spent most of the previous weekend in Thara’s bed being fucked and spoiled, and left so pleasure-drunk that Thara practically had to pour him into a cab. No, he’s pretty sure Frong hasn’t tired of him. So what’s going on?  
  


 **Lizard Dad** **  
**Yim, is everything OK?

 **Yim Yaw**   
…   
…   
Dealing w/family stuff rn sorry

 **Lizard Dad**   
Ohhh take care then, I hope it’s not   
serious. I’m here if you need me.

~

_I’m here if you need me._

Frong doesn’t want to need anyone. For the first time in his life he’s trying to be the strong pillar somebody else can lean on, a role that does not come naturally to an indulged and babied youngest child. But he’s trying. For his mother, he’s trying.

His Mae is resting now, drifting in and out of sleep at unpredictable intervals, still groggy even though the anesthesia from her exploratory surgery wore off hours ago. Frong is pretty hazy himself; he didn’t manage more than an hour or two of fitful dozing all night. His long body is a poor fit for hospital guest chairs, and he’s not about to abandon his mother’s side for the more comfortable couches in the family lounge. 

Frong stands up and stretches before stepping up to her bedside to gaze down at that beloved face. She’s always seemed to defy time and aging, his Mae, looking fresh-faced and years younger than her chronological age. But now, for the first time he can remember, she looks frail and spent. 

“You’re going to be all right, Mae,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke an errant strand of hair away from her sleeping face. “I promise.” 

When her stomach had started troubling her, they’d all assumed it was a recurrence of the gastric ulcer Mae had suffered after Por’s death. Stress always seems to hit Mae right in the gut, and she’s had more than her share of it recently with financial worries about the family floral shop. A massive municipal sewer project had rerouted foot traffic away from their block for weeks, drastically cutting into their walk-in sales just as Frong’s tuition bill came due for the new academic term. Mae never complained, of course, she just ordered a refill of her ulcer medicine and soldiered on at the shop until First caught her bent over gasping in pain in the back room, still trying to arrange bouquets. Even then she’d refused to let him take her to the doctor, insisting that she could just go home and rest while First finished a huge wedding order that would pay the shop’s lease for another month. 

None of them expected the urgent phone call last night saying she’d been wheeled into surgery after vomiting blood in the emergency room.

He and his brothers are tag-teaming now to be sure someone is always there with her. His oldest brother First sat vigil during the surgery and after, staying long enough to see Mae settled into her room last night. Middle brother Fang will spell him in a few hours when he needs to head to his afternoon classes. Frong hopes First got some rest before he had to open the floral shop this morning, or if not that he’ll ask Fang to drive the van for the morning deliveries. The last thing they need right now is First falling asleep at the wheel. 

First, like so many eldest children, has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and tends to try to do it all. Frong, on the other hand, usually gets told not to worry his pretty little head, hush, the grownups are talking. But he’s not going to stand for it this time. He’s going to pull his weight in this family.

 _I’m here if you need me._ God, he’d wanted so badly to reply to that with a _Yes, I do._ Thara is a doctor, or will be soon; he’d understand what all this medical terminology means. He’d know the right questions to ask, unlike Frong, who’s slated to go to a consultation with Mae’s doctor in an hour without the faintest clue. 

He and Thara don’t have that kind of relationship, though, do they? They haven’t put a label on it—Frong’s never been much for labels—but they’re assuredly not _boyfriends_. They’ve never even left Thara’s condo together in the light of day. Frong shows up for spoiling and sex, with or without an invitation, and in the morning he leaves. That’s not a relationship, it’s a mutually pleasurable arrangement. He’s got zero claim on Thara’s emotional support even if Thara is too nice a guy not to offer it. 

_Too nice for the likes of me,_ he thinks cynically as he rummages for his toothbrush and a change of shirt from his bag and heads to the bathroom to make himself presentable for the doctor.

~

There are probably more embarrassing ways to realize that you don’t know your hookup’s surname even after several weeks of sexual encounters. But as he and Frong lock eyes across the consultation room in utter dismay (his) and shock (Frong’s), Thara is hard pressed to think of one.

Kankun. Frong’s legal name is Korawit Kankun. It’s right there on his mother’s chart under Next of Kin, along with two brothers, but Thara hadn’t recognized it. Why would he? 

As he stands there quietly beside the senior doctor with his fellow medical student Park, struggling not to let anything show on his face, Thara suddenly remembers what his father told him when delivering The Talk to him as a teenager: “Son, the thing about sex is that it’s all fun and games until it isn’t.”

 _My poor Yim,_ he thinks as the doctor acknowledges Frong’s respectful wai and motions him to a seat. Because unlike Frong, he knows what’s coming.

Thara watches Frong’s face, already dearer to him than he cares to admit, as it reflects first relief at the news that his mother’s stomach should heal just fine from her surgery...and then stark fear at the doctor’s next words. One word, specifically: _Tumor._

“I need to send it to the lab to see if it’s dangerous,” the doctor explains. 

“Dangerous,” Frong repeats in a voice gone quiet with dread. His gaze shifts suddenly to Thara, bewildered and pleading.

“To find out if it’s cancerous,” Thara explains gently, “or benign.”

He sees Frong’s lips move silently—a curse? A prayer?—as the doctor quickly explains the timeline for lab results and shares a sheet of aftercare instructions for his mother’s recovery. Frong nods in the right places, even asks a question or two, but Thara knows him well enough by now to recognize that he’s dazed, barely listening, just going through the motions before he can escape. 

When he excuses himself and slips from the room, Thara promptly does the same and follows. He catches up to Frong outside on the mezzanine, where he’s fled to the far corner to lean on the railing overlooking the street below. 

“Frong,” he says softly. “Frong, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was your mother.”

Frong goes still as he recognizes the voice, then shrugs. “Why should you?” he asks without turning. “We haven’t exactly exchanged family histories.”

“No. But I should have at least known your name.” Hesitantly, Thara reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, feeling the terrible tension there. “Please try not to worry. She’s lucky we found it early, even if the news is bad. There’s still time to treat it.”

Frong does turn then, fury in his eyes as he pushes Thara’s hand away. “Not worry? How can I not worry? She’s my _mother._ ” He tries to shove past Thara, only to find himself restrained as Thara catches firm hold of his arm. 

For an instant Thara genuinely believes he’s going to be punched as Frong struggles violently—but when he persists and manages to get both arms around him, Frong abruptly slumps against him like a puppet with its wires cut and lets Thara take his weight. Thara staggers a half step backward before bracing himself against the railing. 

“Oh, Yim.” He settles Frong more fully into his embrace as the younger man presses his face into the crook of Thara’s neck and breathes in ragged, panicky gasps. “It’s going to be all right, sweet Yim.”

“You can’t know that.” Frong’s voice is muffled against Thara’s skin. “Your father died. My father died.”

 _Oh god I didn’t know that either,_ Thara thinks with horror and shame. No wonder Frong is going to pieces. “Shh,” he croons, rubbing soothing circles into Frong’s back. “Don’t borrow trouble, OK? We’re going to get the diagnosis as quickly as possible and then her doctor will put together the best possible treatment plan. He’s top-notch in his specialty and his team is outstanding too. They’re going to take the very best care of her.”

Frong raises his head at that, looking into Thara’s face with suspiciously red-rimmed eyes. “They? Aren’t you going to be one of them?”

Thara shakes his head regretfully. “Probably not,” he admits. “I’ll be ending my gastroenterology rotation soon and moving on to neurology.” Seeing the anxiety in Frong’s face he quickly adds, “But I’ll still be there for the biopsy news, I promise. If you want me there.”

In answer Frong hugs him bruisingly tight, and this time when he burrows his face into Thara’s neck it’s to press a kiss to the pulse point there. He doesn’t speak but his plea is clear all the same.

Over Frong’s shoulder Thara sees his classmate Park push open the double doors onto the mezzanine, his eyes widening as he spots them in their close embrace. Thara meets his gaze unflinching, never pausing in his stroking of Frong’s back. He doesn’t advertise his sexual orientation at the hospital or the university but neither does he hide it, and he’s not going to treat Frong like a dirty secret in this time of need. After a moment Park simply nods and retreats, and Thara returns his full attention to the young man in his arms.

“How long are you staying at the hospital today?” he asks. “Do you need a ride back to uni?”

Frong shakes his head and pulls away to arms length, straightening his shirt. “My brother Fang will take over here when he’s done with the flower shop deliveries,” he says, “and I’ll drive the van back. My family’s business,” he adds in answer to Thara’s inquiring look. “My brothers and I all work there part-time anyway, but lately we’ve taken over Mae’s work too since she started feeling ill.”

“No wonder you’ve been quiet. Yim…” Thara catches hold of his chin and turns his head to the left and right, studying his face. “Have you slept even a little? You’ve got dark circles under your eyes and you look dead on your feet. Come to my place tonight and let me look after you.”

For a moment Frong’s face brightens and Thara thinks he’s going to accept. Then his mouth tightens into a grimace and he gives his head a stubborn shake. “My mother is in the hospital, P’,” he says curtly. “I’m not really in the mood to fuck.”

Ouch. Well, Thara can’t say he doesn’t deserve that. “I don’t mean for sex. Just let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”

For a moment he can see Frong wavering, quite literally; he leans toward Thara as though drawn by gravitational pull, weakening enough to briefly brush Thara’s lips with his own. But then the stubborn head shake is back. “What I need is to stay close to my family. But thank you, P’Doctor.” 

His sudden smile is altogether dazzling and altogether fake, and it makes Thara want to seize him and shake him until he lets his real emotions through. But he hasn’t earned that right either. Reluctantly he stands back to let Frong pass, staring after him even when he’s disappeared through the double doors back into the hospital.

They’re fuckbuddies—maybe friends with benefits if he’s charitable to himself—but right now there’s nothing sexual about his urges toward Frong. He wants to draw him a warm bath, bring him a tray of food, rub his back. Cuddle him. Brush the hair away from that worried brow and kiss it. Tuck him into bed to pet and spoil him until he drifts into the sleep he so desperately needs.

With a groan Thara leans back against the railing and contemplates all the ways he’s an idiot. Fuck. Who is he kidding?

He doesn’t want to spoil Frong. 

He wants to love him.

~

Thara doesn’t hear another word from Frong for several days, and he nearly misses the text when it arrives. It’s late, well after two a.m. when through a haze of sleep he registers the sound of a beep from the bedside table. Then another.

Groggily he fumbles for his phone in the dark and brings it to his face.

 **Yim Yaw**   
I’m outside.

 **Yim Yaw**   
Let me in?

“You look like hell,” Thara blurts out when he opens the door.

Frong can’t even seem to summon the energy to look offended, just mumbles “Thanks a lot” as he stumbles across the threshold. Then he does a double take and asks incredulously, “Are you wearing _lizard pajamas?_ ” 

Thara looks down at his shirt front, emblazoned with _Lizard Lover_ and a cute green lizard in a circle of hearts. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

There’s a flash of uncertainty in Frong’s bloodshot eyes. “I know I should’ve called first…” 

Thara’s heart can’t take it, seeing his beautiful, arrogant Yim—who usually stalks through the door like he owns the place, invited or not—looking lost and unsure, so exhausted he’s swaying on his feet. Without another word he just reaches out and gathers him in, tossing Frong’s overnight bag aside to claim him in a full-body embrace.

“You are always welcome here,” Thara says fiercely. “Now get your pretty ass in my bed before you fall over.”

Frong laughs weakly against his neck, which tickles not unpleasantly. “I won’t be fun,” he warns.

“I don’t want you fun, I want you rested.” Thara holds him at arm’s length, searching his face and noting with concern Frong’s bleary eyes with dark smudges beneath them, his dry lips, and his unkempt hair. “When did you eat last?”

Frong rubs fretfully at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Honestly? I can’t remember. Mae forced me to get something from the cafeteria but I couldn’t tell you what time that was. Lunch, I think.”

“Mm. Get comfortable between the sheets but don’t nod off yet, then—I’ve got some decent leftovers that won’t take long to reheat. I’ll bring you a tray.” He plants a quick kiss on each cheek before giving Frong a gentle push in the direction of the bedroom. 

Frong does manage to stay awake long enough to be fed, but barely; he’s sitting up against the headboard with his eyes closed when Thara returns with the bed tray, a little indulgence he’d purchased during his relationship with Ice but rarely used. Ice preferred morning sex to breakfast in bed and found Thara’s attempts to pamper him more embarrassing than gratifying. Frong, much to Thara’s delight, enjoys being pampered nearly as much as having sex—and at the moment, more.

“I’ve also got mango sorbet,” Thara says as he places the tray across Frong’s lap, silently appreciating his bare upper body as he does so, “but I’ll keep it in the freezer till you’re done with this.”

With visible effort Frong focuses on the contents of the tray: spicy noodles with lean chicken and sweet basil, chilled melon slices, and grilled flatbread with chutney and dipping sauces. His smile is weary but sweet as he picks up the fork and spoon. “God, this looks so good after hospital food. I can’t believe you put this together in ten minutes.”

Thara waves a dismissive hand. “All leftovers from my own dinner,” he says. “When I cook I always make extra so I can get a couple of meals out of it.” Or in case a certain greedy junior stops by. “Make sure you drink all that water too, I can tell you’re dehydrated just from looking at your lips.” 

“You love my lips,” Frong mutters as he pops a piece of melon between them. 

“I absolutely do. That’s why I don’t like seeing them dry and cracked. I’ve got some balm you can put on after you’ve eaten.” Thara smiles at him fondly as Frong continues to wolf down the meal. “Yim, you know I’m always happy to see you no matter what the time of day, but two o’clock in the morning is unusual. Did something happen?”

Frong drinks deeply from the ice water with lemon and lime slices, eyeing Thara over the brim of the glass. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says when he sets it down again, half empty now. “Mae’s evening nurse said the biopsy results should be back in the morning. Is that true?”

“Quite likely.” Absently Thara reaches out to wipe an errant scrap of lemon pulp from the corner of Frong’s mouth with his thumb. “There’s a care team check-in on my schedule for tomorrow morning, which usually means reviewing updated information like lab results before the doctor’s rounds with the patients.” 

“You’ll be there?” Frong’s voice is ostensibly casual but he’s avoiding Thara’s eyes as he asks the question, and there’s a vulnerability about his expression that hurts to look at too long. 

“I will.” Thara squeezes his shoulder gently. “I’ll give you a ride to the hospital in the morning. Want that sorbet now? You seem to have made short work of everything else.”

Frong shakes his head wearily. “Just want to sleep. Can I have it for breakfast?”

“Yes, little prince.” Thara lifts the tray away and bears it off to the kitchen for a quick round of cleanup. By the time he returns Frong is already dozing on his side, although he stirs when Thara slips between the sheets to spoon him from behind.

“I...knew,” he murmurs, his voice already slurred with sleep. 

Thara kisses the back of his neck. “Knew what, Yim?”

“That you’d let me in…” His voice trails off into the deep, slow breaths of exhausted sleep.

“I always will,” Thara whispers. “Sleep well, sweet boy.”

Sleep doesn’t come as easily for him as it did for Frong. He lies awake a long while, staring into the darkness, wondering how badly he’ll spook Frong if he admits this is no longer a casual arrangement to him. If he admits that he wants more.

 _What have I got to lose?_ he wonders. And then has to suppress a bitter laugh at himself, because he knows the answer very well.

His arm tightens around Frong’s waist. _This._ This is what he has to lose. The sweet warmth of this beautiful young man in his bed. The pleasure of his touch. The intoxicating joy of indulging his petulance and whims, sexual and otherwise, half of which he’s sure Frong concocts on the spot just to drive him crazy. The sound of his laugh and the light of his smile. 

God. Even after just a few weeks, his smile alone is more than Thara could bear to lose.

Eventually he drifts off into a fretful sleep with Frong blissfully unaware and peaceful in his arms.

~

Frong wakes hugging only a pillow and feels immediately bereft until he hears Thara singing in the shower in a sweet true tenor. He smiles to himself and strains his ears to make out the song, but with the bathroom door closed he can only catch bits and pieces of the lyrics.

“....you are peacefully sleeping…”

“...letting you dwell on your sweet dreams…”

“Do you feel the same way I do?”

“...should I tell you?”

Only when Thara hits the chorus does Frong place it: It’s the theme song for that BL series they tried to watch together one night, what was the title? They didn’t get far into it because Thara accidentally clicked on a Hottest Scenes compilation instead of Episode Two and they both got so turned on by the sizzling chemistry between the two stars that they ended up fucking like animals. That had been a memorable night.

What night with Thara hasn’t been memorable, though? Even last night, sexless though it was. It kills Frong how unfailingly _kind_ Thara is, how generous and patient, even when awakened in the middle of the night by an inconsiderate idiot who doesn’t even kiss him hello.

Fuck. Why is he wasting this good man’s time pandering to his petty needs? Thara deserves someone to care for him as tenderly as he cares for Frong—someone giving and unselfish who will cook him dinner and ask him about his day, not just pout to be spoiled and fucked. He can almost picture them together in their domestic bliss, Thara and this other, kinder man who massages his shoulders and gives him thoughtful presents and never forgets to kiss him hello. Probably they do the crossword puzzle together in bed on Sunday mornings while wearing matching pajamas.

The other man is purely imaginary but Frong hates his guts anyway. 

When Thara emerges from the bathroom, he seems surprised but pleased to be greeted with a fiercely possessive kiss. “Good morning to you too,” he says with a little laugh when they come up for air. “You look much better.”

“I slept like a hibernating bear. Do I have time to shower before we head to the hospital?”

Thara nods. “And for a little breakfast too, if I cook while you get cleaned up. I’ll just—what’s that scowl for? Were you hoping I’d wash your back?”

“You don’t always have to cook for me,” Frong mutters. “You’re not my servant.”

“Oh, does that mean you won’t complain about the quality of the service anymore?” Thara teases, but his smile fades when he sees Frong’s expression remain stony. “Yim, is something the matter? Besides the obvious, I mean? You don’t usually mind me catering to you.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

“I don’t have to.” Thara cups his chin and tips it up to claim another kiss, soft and slow. “I want to. There’s a difference. Go take your shower now, OK? Look your best for your mother.”

“I don’t think she cares how I look right now. She’s got more serious things to worry about.”

“You’d be surprised. Many patients fret over how their families are faring without them at home. Just show her your sweetest smile, Yim. If she can see that every day I am sure she will feel reassured and confident.” 

Thara pats his cheek and heads off to the kitchen, leaving Frong staring after him with unspoken longing.

They don’t talk much on the drive to the hospital, Frong lost in his own tangled thoughts and Thara considerately not prodding him to speak. Thara drops him off at the visitor entrance with a quick squeeze of his hand and a promise to see him soon.

“You’re here so early!” his Mae exclaims when he arrives at her bedside. “Did you get enough rest?”

“I should be asking you that.” Frong sits on the edge of the bed to deliver a careful hug and a kiss to her cheek, searching her face anxiously as he draws away. “Did you sleep well? Have you eaten? How is your stomach feeling this morning?”

“Don’t worry too much, sweetheart. I’m fine. I will be all better in no time.” She gives him a reassuring smile and gestures to the bedside table, where Frong sees several books and leaflets. _Good Gut, Good Health_ says one title; another is _The Anti-Inflammatory Diet Cookbook._ “I’ve just been reading. After you left yesterday a medical student brought me all this information on how to take care of myself. Oh, and he gave me this too, to help me relax. He said he brings them to all his patients. Isn’t that kind?” She holds up a tiny sprig of white flowers, a bit wilted now but still sweetly fragrant. Jasmine. 

Frong takes it from her hand and breathes in the same scent that sometimes lingers on Thara’s clothes. “Was it P’Thara?” he asks, already certain of the answer. “The medical student?”

Mae tilts her head inquisitively. “Why yes, it was. Do you know him from university, dear?”

With care Frong tucks the sprig behind her ear and considers his answer so long that he knows she must be wondering why. Ordinarily he’d offer up a white lie, glib and casual, but something has shifted in the system of moral weights and balances he uses to measure out details about his personal life. This time the lie dies unspoken on his lips.

His Mae might have cancer. He could _lose his Mae_ without ever being honest about who he really is. 

“Not from the university,” he says finally. “P’Thara and I…” He hesitates, his eyes seeking hers and finding only gentle encouragement there. “Mae, you already know—don’t you? About me?” He’s sure she does, although they’ve never discussed it openly; still he feels his cheeks grow hot and his stomach clench as he awaits her answer.

Her warm hand covers his where it rests on the mattress. “I know that you are my beloved son,” she says softly, “and you are precious to me. But if you’re asking if I know you’re gay? Yes, my dear. I’ve known for a very long time. Your father and I talked about it years ago.”

“You and Por? Really?” It strikes Frong hard—the possibility that his late father might have understood him better than he ever knew. He finds himself holding his breath for his mother’s reply.

“Oh yes. He said that when a boy as handsome as you never brings home a girlfriend, there’s usually a reason. And there was that friend of yours in senior high—Bank? The one who moved away, the summer you moped around the house for weeks? We worried about how hard you grieved. We could tell he was important to you.”

“You never said anything.”

“Maybe we should have,” she admits. “But we thought that you needed to come to us in your own time. When you were ready.”

Braced for rejection, Frong finds himself undone by her gentle acceptance. He closes his eyes tight against the sting of unshed tears and rests his head on her shoulder, careful to angle his body away from the surgical site in her midsection. “I love you, Mae,” he whispers. “I was just so afraid of disappointing you.”

“My good boy. You could never disappoint me, or your father either.” She strokes his hair as tenderly as she did when he was a small child. “So you’ve been seeing that nice Doctor Thara?”

“Yes.” Drawing a deep calming breath, he sits up to meet her eyes, which are filled with nothing but love. “I like him, Mae. I like him so much. He’s too good for me, but—”

Her hand catches his again. “Nonsense!” she says firmly. “Nobody is too good for my smart and handsome son, even a future doctor.”

Frong laughs shakily. “You might be a little biased, Mae.”

“Maybe so,” she concedes, “but he obviously cares about you too. I can see it in his eyes.”

“See it—?” Frong’s brow furrows in confusion until he realizes that she’s looking past him toward the open doorway. With a sinking sense of inevitability he turns to see Thara, handsome in his white intern’s coat, smiling at them both.

“Your mother is a very wise woman,” he says. “You should listen to her, Yim.” He crosses the room to them and takes the hand Frong’s mother offers him, pressing it between his own. “You’ve raised a very fine son, Mrs. Kankun, even if he’s a little slow to see his own worth.”

Frong wants to reply—to argue, perhaps, that nobody is worthy of Thara, not even that imaginary paragon he’d been picturing him with this morning. But then his gaze falls upon the hospital logo on Thara’s white coat and he remembers.

“Are the lab results in?” he asks, nearly choking on the words. 

“They are,” Thara says, his free hand coming up to squeeze Frong’s shoulder. “The senior doctor is coming now.”

They’re not left in suspense for long. It’s only a minute or two later that the distinguished elder doctor, trailed by his interns, enters the room beaming.

“I have excellent news for you,” he announces with obvious pleasure. “The biopsy result is back and it is just a cyst! Completely benign. Once it’s removed you should make a full recovery.”

“Thank heavens,” Frong’s mother breathes. “Oh, doctor, I’ve prayed for this news! Thank you so much.” She leans heavily against Frong for a moment before pulling herself together with a tremulous smile, and that’s his Mae all over—strong in the face of adversity, never allowing her fear to show until the danger is past.

Frong echoes her thanks, feeling heady with relief yet still keenly aware of Thara’s hand on his shoulder. Distantly he’s aware that the doctor is explaining what happens next, which apparently is another surgery—routine this time—to take out the cyst.

“Someone will come by to talk to you about scheduling,” the physician says, “but you needn’t worry. You’ll be back to your regular routine before you know it.” And with a few more explanatory instructions the doctor accepts their wais of thanks and continues on his rounds.

Thara, obediently following the others, casts another smile back over his shoulder. “I’m so happy for you, Auntie,” he says. “I’ll see you again soon, I hope.”

Frong stares after him, then back to his mother, torn until she waves a hand at him. “Go, go,” she urges. “Catch up to him. I’m fine! Better than fine, with this good news.”

Swiftly he bends to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mae. I love you!”

“Run!” she retorts, and Frong does.

~

“You know it’s only on medical dramas that doctors have wild sex in on-call rooms and supply closets, right?” Thara says ten minutes later as he removes Frong’s wandering hands from his fully clothed ass. 

Frong looks around pointedly at the shelves of medical supplies. “And yet here we are.” 

“Because I’m weak for you and needed to kiss you,” Thara admits. “But we’re still not having sex in here.”

“Blow job?”

“No.”

“Handy?”

“No.”

“Date?”

Thara blinks. “You want to date me in the supply closet?”

It’s tempting to make a joke and let the moment pass, but the conversation with his Mae has made Frong brave—and the fear of losing her was a powerful reminder that life is short and time precious. Too precious to pretend. So with unaccustomed solemnity he takes Thara’s face between his two big hands and looks into his eyes. 

“No,” he says. “I want to date you out in the world. Dinner. Movies. The beach. All that couple-y shit I always said I didn’t want.”

Thara searches his face. “But you want that now?”

“I want _you._ ” Frong kisses him fiercely then, catching Thara’s mouth half-open on a reply that turns into a soft moan. “And you deserve more than booty calls.” He kisses him again, softer. “You deserve everything good because _you’re_ good, you lizard-loving, cardigan-wearing, flower-toting weirdo.”

Thara’s laugh is low and delighted. “You forgot big-dicked,” he says in mock affront, wrapping his arms around Frong’s waist to pull him even closer. 

“I never forget that.” Frong grinds against him deliberately, grinning when Thara has to bite his lip to keep quiet. “One of these days you’re going to break me with that thing—good luck explaining _that_ to your doctor friends when you bring me to the emergency room.”

“Can we circle back to the part where you want to date me?” 

With a long-suffering sigh, Frong kisses him again. “I want to date you. I’ll probably suck at it, because I think with my dick and I’m selfish as hell and I have no clue how to be anybody’s real boyfriend. Also I’m terrible at crossword puzzles and I wouldn’t be caught dead in matching pajamas. But I’ll try, OK? Now can we skip ahead to the part where you say yes and take me home to bed?”

“Crossword puzzles?” Thara says in a bewildered tone. 

“Never mind. Yes or no?”

“Silly Yim.” Thara’s smile is like the sunrise. “Of course it’s yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot explain how the sequel to the unapologetically smutty Sitting Pretty ended up being all feelings & no sex! This was not what I set out to write! But Thara and Frong developed feelings and so did I, and here we are. 
> 
> There may be a follow-up chapter or fic to remedy this omission. But for now my boys are just gonna cuddle, OK?


End file.
